A Gift
by Avon
Summary: Sometimes you have to find your family. Gen fic. A Rusty and Danny friendship story.


Danny grew up in a house; the sort of house that Rusty used to visit when he saw a suitable open window. He grew up in a bedroom with a baseball bat and a mitt signed by Catfish Hunter and a hamster and a full set of Grand Prix slot cars and 35 Hardy Boys books. He grew up with a 3-speed dragster out the back and a competition quality dartboard hanging in the porch. He grew up with a closet full of brand name jeans and discreetly logo-ed polo shirts. He grew up with a mother, a father - at least for fifteen years, a grandmother, three uncles, two aunts and a dozen or so cousins. Even after he left home, in the back of his mind, Danny always knew that he could go back. His mom might not really want to see him, might make it very clear she didn't approve of what he'd chosen to become, but she'd take him in, because that's what families do. Rusty didn't have anyone he could say that about until he met Danny. 

Now they're sitting out the back of a rented condo in Miami staring at a gold-wrapped parcel. They've been on the scam together for over a year. Rusty's maybe 17 - 19 the way he tells it - and Danny's 22. Rusty told him his birthday when Danny was organising a fake ID for him, and now Danny's come home with this present and Rusty's staring at it as if it was a Supreme Court summons. The smile's died on Danny's face, and even he has run out of jive before Rusty looks away and looks at him. He sounds tough, tougher than Danny has heard him, but Danny reads people for a living and he sees what Rusty is trying to hide - he always does.

"What do you want?"

The question comes out nine-tenths aggressive and one-tenth just plain puzzled. Danny bites back all the smart answers and uses the voice he keeps for gentling people into something.

"Nothing. We're partners, right? You know, we watch each other's backs and keep an eye out for each other. Taking care of each other. It's your birthday so I got you a present."

Danny moves the parcel a half-inch or so towards Rusty and watches him as he chews on his thumbnail and then scoops up a handful of pretzels. Danny wonders if he should have said more, but as easily as he throws the word love around with his girlfriend of the moment, he can't seem to say it to his best friend. Anyway, he suspects Rusty'd be over the porch railing and halfway down the driveway before he even got to the next sentence.

Rusty's come to the end of the pretzels and, while he's still scowling, one hand reaches out and traces a fold of paper and Danny knows he's got him.

"Go on," he says. "The night's getting on and there's some bars out there with our names on them."

Rusty pulls the parcel over finally, lets himself touch - just once - the cascades of red-brown ribbon, and then flips it over and starts work on the scotch tape. Neither ribbon nor tape present any sort of barrier for hands as skilled as Rusty's and, in a matter of seconds, he's reached the embossed box inside. He hesitates, hands on the box, and looks over at Danny.

"I've never." He stops and Danny knows he doesn't know how to say it, doesn't want to sound like some dumb kid. Rusty drops his eyes and stares at the litter of ribbon and paper, shrugs and mutters, "Thanks."

It sounds ungrateful but Danny understands so when he glances back up Danny's smiling. Rusty goes back to looking at the box. He traces the embossed writing.

"You _bought_ it?"

"Yep," says Danny easily, but, even though the money wouldn't have been straight, they both know that it means something that it _was_ bought.

Rusty's still staring at the box so Danny pours them another drink - Chardonnay for him and a Bourbon and coke for Rusty - and settles back to watch him. It takes a minute or two before Rusty looks up with the sort of smile he never gives a mark.

"I guess I don't need to call in a specialist to open this, huh?"

Danny smiles back, makes it gentle.

"Nope. No bombs or time-delay locks."

Absently, Rusty takes a slurp of his drink then flips the lid of the box open. The last of the sun catches the gold inside and turns it into fiery treasure. Rusty freezes for a moment before he tips the box up and lets the contents slither out into his hand. Grinning, Danny watches him as he stares at it open-mouthed. It's gold, and thick and solid - almost as broad as Rusty's little finger - and yeah it cost thousands. Danny knows it was worth it as he sits there in the fading sunset watching Rusty's face. A gaudy gold chain like that is not for Danny, not at all, but he'd figured that _Rusty_ would think he was the last word in sharp with that glinting in the vee of one of his many hideous shirts. The entranced look on his face tells him that he was right. Of course, it will look better after he grows a little more chest hair Danny hides a grin at the thought.

"_Danny!_" Rusty says finally, and it's all there - surprise, excitement, wonder, disbelief and gratitude. He picks the chain up and puts it round his neck, bending forward a little as he works on the catch. His fingers are shaking though and, with an ache, Danny sees that Rusty the sure-fingered is fumbling. A simple present shouldn't mean this much to anyone and Danny knows in that moment that he is never going to feel sorry for himself on his birthday ever again: at least he has had it all.

"Here, lean over," Danny says, and snaps the chain into place.

Rusty straightens up, looks down at the chain, and looks at Danny. There's not much cool about him now as he smiles at Danny. His eyes are glowing and Danny is hit again by the knowledge that a present shouldn't mean this much.

He grins back and makes some teasing comment about how pretty Rusty is, but his mind is whirring plans. There has to be a bakery still open somewhere. Maybe the Swedish one down near the docks? One of their apple cakes would do nicely, but, if necessary, he could stick candles in half a dozen doughnuts. Danny is sure that it is written somewhere in Jefferson's declaration that every American has an inalienable right to be able to buy doughnuts 24/7, so that should be a lay down.

"Hey, Rus? You wanna go and decide which hideous shirt that would look best with? I've just gotta go out for a little while. Be back soon."

Rusty nods, sure, and starts to gather up ribbon, paper and box. He's halfway through the door before he remembers to turn and say thanks. Danny doesn't care: he doesn't need the words.


End file.
